


The Gift

by LadyJaneGrey92



Series: Vicbourne Christmas Stories [2]
Category: Victoria (TV), Victoria ITV
Genre: Christmas Vicbourne, F/M, Short & Sweet, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneGrey92/pseuds/LadyJaneGrey92
Summary: As Christmas approaches, Victoria wants to give her Prime Minister a gift that would tell him how much he means to her.  But what could it be?  And can she find the courage to give it to him?This is a small vignette based upon Victoria ITV.*Written for the 2019 Vicbourne Advent Calendar for the FB group, For the Love of Vicbourne--Victoria and Lord Melbourne.*
Relationships: William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne & Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901), William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901)
Series: Vicbourne Christmas Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571785
Comments: 51
Kudos: 52





	1. A Great Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daphne_Fredriksen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daphne_Fredriksen/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its been ages since the Coronation Ball, but still, all Victoria can think about is dancing with her Prime Minister, the dashing Lord Melbourne. To make matters worse, things between them ever since have been awkward. When the idea strikes to hold a Christmas Ball, Victoria is at once thrilled and desolate--whatever can she give him for a present?

**Chapter 1—A Great Idea**

Victoria stood at the window, one hand clutching the velvet curtain, the other against her belly as she stood gazing at the courtyard below. She watched him disembark his carriage, her heart in her throat as he emerged. Handsome—good lord, was he handsome! More handsome than any man she had ever known in top hat and long coat, he alighted with athletic grace, despite the cold snow flurrying around his figure, and made his way into the palace. To her.

Her pulse raced, and she touched her hair with anxiety. Everything seemed to be in order. She hoped she looked presentable for the only figure—the only man—in her whole life who brightened her entire existence just by entering the room. It was a foolish notion, certainly, but she simply could not help herself. When Lord M was present, everything was right in the world. And when he left again, it was as if he took the very air from her body with him has he went, and only the promise of his return could make his departure bearable.

She smoothed the blue silk of her gown again, unable to still her nervousness. Her ladies were not about this morning, and mercifully neither was her mother, nor Lehzen. Though she would always contrive to see him alone, it was most pleasant to be able to do so from the start, without having to excuse oneself all the time.

She heard the combined footsteps of the butler, Penge, along with Lord M’s approaching, and cast about for a dignified place to receive him. She settled on a tufted settee, and folded her hands before her in a vain attempt to still them.

The door opened, and the dour Penge entered, nose in the air.

“Lord Melbourne is here Ma’am, to go over the dispatches.”

“Yes of course. Please send him in.”

And just like that, Penge disappeared, and in strode Lord Melbourne.

She swallowed hard. His cheeks, and the tips of his ears were pink with cold, as indeed was his mouth. Victoria focused there for a moment, feeling her own mouth twitch. Then she was captured by the green of his eyes, which indeed seemed a particularly intense shade of emerald this morning, perhaps reflecting the same deep jewel tones in his cravat.

She stood in a whisper of skirts just as he fell to his knee before her, taking her hand lightly in his own, bowing over it, and drawing her knuckles to the same pink lips that she had just been admiring, grazing them with a kiss.

Indeed his lips _were_ cold, she thought with amusement, as he withdrew and stood before her.

The fact that she would like to warm them for him flashed briefly through her thoughts unbidden, and she was at once very glad that her Prime Minister could not actually read her mind.

“Good morning, Lord M,” she said, unable to hide her smile. “Such a cold morning, is it not?”

“Yes indeed it is. I’m sorry, Ma’am, if my hands were too cold. I perhaps should have warmed them first.”

“No indeed, but do take a seat before the fire,” she said, suppressing her amusement. “I am comfortable enough, but surely you cannot be after such a cold journey. Shall I send for tea or coffee?”

“Coffee would be much appreciated, Ma’am, thank you,” he said comfortably, and moved to stand near the fireplace as she arranged for refreshments.

Such formality. Such distant politeness. Sometimes these conventions frustrated her no end. She gazed a moment at the masculine splendor that was her dearest Lord M, standing before the fire and warming his hands. Such a fine figure he cut. So tall and straight and handsome. So broad his shoulders. So large and capable his hands. So gentle his eyes, and so pleasing his voice. And today he was wearing her favorite blue velvet frock coat and tan breeches, his waistcoat and cravat both the same deep green as his eyes.

He was so familiar, and yet, in some ways, such a mystery to her--one she very much wanted to learn all the secrets to. He was rumored, of course, to have been involved in many scandals with women. Criminal conversations. Whispers of other things. And of course, his horrid wife. Such a woman she could not imagine. Who could ever betray the love of such a magnificent man? Victoria knew if she been fortunate enough to have been his wife, or the happy recipient of his admiration and affection--to say nothing of his love—she should have counted herself the luckiest of all women, and never strayed.

Her gaze swept over his frame again, and she found herself remembering her coronation ball, and the feeling of his hand against her back, holding her in the dance, sweeping her around the floor, eyes burning like molten amber in the candlelight as they held her own. Oh, how she should like to feel him there again! To feel him pull her close the way Alexander, the Russian Grand Duke, had done. If it had been Lord M to hold her so instead--she should have never permitted anyone to interfere.

“Penny for you thoughts, Ma’am. You seem rather lost in them this morning.”

She blinked, and realized he had noticed her gazing at him, and was now giving her a wry smile. She turned away, flushing. How had she been looking at him? What must he be thinking?

“My apologies Lord M,” she stammered. “I did not wish to make you uncomfortable. I was…that is…my thoughts…were…wandering, as you say.” She finished lamely, seeking the refuge of the window, the swirling winter snowfall now seeming refreshingly cool after the simmering of her thoughts.

“Anything in particular on your mind, Ma’am?” He asked in a slightly gentle tone. “Can I be of assistance in any way?”

 _Yes,_ she closed her eyes. _Oh, yes you can. Only you can assist me. If only—oh if only you would!_

There was a knock, and refreshments were wheeled in. The door closed and Victoria busied herself with serving him. She felt his eyes on her thoughtfully as she poured his coffee steadily, handing him the cup with hands that shook only a little, waving off his attempts to serve himself.

“You will deprive me of a great deal of enjoyment if you serve yourself,” she said in what she hoped was a teasing tone of voice. “Allow me to be of some use, after all.”

“You are of much more than _some_ use, Ma’am. Surely you know that.” He accepted the cup, eyes on her with far too much curiosity for her comfort level.

“Sometimes I do not think so,” she said with a sigh. “I feel very useless indeed.”

“The Queen has far more important matters to attend to than the Prime Minister’s coffee, Ma’am,” he said with a smile. “But I thank you most humbly.”

“Nonsense. You are my friend, as well as my Prime Minister. Surely that allows me some privileges?”

He dropped his eyes, and Victoria kicked herself.

“Can I not at least pour you coffee on a cold morning, after all?” She continued hurriedly. “It seems the least I can do when you came all this way in such conditions.”

“Well. As I do not think it will cause a constitutional crisis, I suppose I may indulge you that far,” he said smiling.

“Thank you,” she said, relieved to be back on familiar ground. She poured herself a cup, and taking a sip, sat near him. But not near as she should like. She buried her frustration in her coffee cup. It was not just him she was frustrated with, but herself. Here she was, blissfully alone with him as she always desired to be. And yet as soon as ever conversation veered into topics which, if truth be known, were far dearer to her than the contents of the day’s dispatches, she herself faltered, and hastily retreated back to a state of comfortable formality—the same formality that she’d just been resenting only a moment before. Indeed sometimes she did not know whom she found to be most intolerable—him, or her own self. She took another sip thoughtfully and let the cup hit the saucer with rather more force than she intended.

His eyes were on her again, as sensitive as ever to her moods. It was one of his most endearing—and frustrating—abilities.

“Is everything all right Ma’am? I hope you will forgive the observation, but something seems to be troubling you.”

She exhaled.

“Ma’am? Have I…perhaps come at an awkward time? Would you like me to—”

“No! Please stay, Lord M. I am sorry. I—I am sorry.” She put her cup back on the silver trolley.

“Perhaps it would do well for you to voice your concerns, Ma’am?”

“No indeed. My concerns are trivial, I assure you. Please. I suppose we should go over the dispatches?”

There she went again. Running away from the very brink of what she longed most to talk about. Would she ever be courageous enough to truly speak to him?

He said nothing, still perceiving her unspoken frustrations. After a moment he nodded.

“Very well.”

Victoria seated herself at her desk without another word, and presently he followed, standing at her side and pulling one item out of the box at a time, explaining each of them to her patiently and efficiently as she signed one after the other until finally the box was empty, and he was gathering the papers again to refill it.

“Lord M,” she said with sudden inspiration, “I wish to hold a Christmas ball.”

“Indeed Ma’am?”

“Christmas is only a few weeks away, after all.”

“It is.”

“And we should do something to mark the occasion, should we not?”

“It is generally customary, Ma’am.”

“Than you do not believe such would be too extravagant?”

“Well…no more than any Christmas celebration, Ma’am. Obviously there will be some expense, but I believe the enjoyment that your court would derive from it would make it more than worthwhile.”

“Very well. Then I wish to proceed.”

“Very good Ma’am. Do you wish to hold it on Christmas day?”

“I think I should like it to be Christmas Eve. That way it could be the start of the festivities, and not the end.”

“Very wise, Ma’am.”

“And you will attend, will you not?”

“Of course, Ma’am, if that is your desire,” he said, turning to her with a smile. “Is it to be a costumed ball?”

“No. Not this time. I wish us to all look quite ourselves. And yes, I do wish for you to attend.”

“Than I shall be only too honored to accept your invitation, Ma’am.”

“And you will dance with me, will you not?”

His hands stilled on the papers.

“Lord M?”

“With pleasure, Ma’am,” he whispered, and gave her a smile of such sweetness that in that moment, Victoria felt he must be genuinely pleased at her request. The notion made her feel quite warm indeed. Very pleasantly so. She returned his smile, and spent the next few moments locked in his beautiful eyes, basking in the warmth that simmered there. It was a special look he only gave her when there was no one present but only themselves, and even then, only rarely. It made the moment all the more special to her.

“In that case, may I be so bold as to claim the first two dances, Ma’am?” He asked in a whisper.

She beamed at him, and was pleased to see him smile broadly in return.

“You may, Lord M. Indeed you may.”

* * *

Victoria left the interview feeling much better than she had when it begun. She had contrived quite cleverly to spend her Christmas with her Prime Minister. And he would dance with her, and hold her in his arms again.

She could think of no better way to spend Christmas.

She went humming through her day. The first two dances! She could hardly wait to step onto the floor, to feel his large and capable hand pressed against her back, to be close enough to breathe him in, to gaze deeply into his eyes.

Oh, and to bask in the wonderment of it for two full dances! In a row!

She must find something to wear appropriate! Something he would approve of. And she must see to it that the first two dances were waltzes. She did not wish to waste them on anything else.

But what to get him for a present?

For a present he ought to have. A very splendid present. One that would tell him just how highly she esteemed him, how greatly she valued him at her side. Something he could perhaps use or wear, that would remind him of her. But more than that—something he would truly enjoy. Something that would make him feel appreciated and cared for.

Yes, a present was precisely what he needed. But what to give him?

“Emma you must know of something he needs!” She had flounced down on her settee in frustration later that afternoon, as Emma had looked on her with a mixture of caution and sympathy.

“William is a man of elegant but simple tastes Ma’am. His current lifestyle suits him well. There simply is not anything he lacks that he has need of…at least that you can provide,” she had said, flashing Victoria a look.

“Not that he would accept from me, for certain.” She said glumly.

“Why do you say that, Ma’am?”

“Oh…I don’t know! I just…I feel…” she stood again, wringing her hands, and crossed to the window. “I wish to acknowledge him in a way that he will appreciate. For all of his devoted service and assistance he has given to me. But I do not know how! I do not think I can think of anything meaningful or useful at all. Anything he would truly welcome and delight in.”

“Anything you give to William will have meaning and use, Ma’am. Of that I am certain.”

“Why? Why are you certain?”

“Because it will have come from you.” Emma held her eyes.

Victoria sighed. If only she could believe that. If only it were true—far more deeply true than Emma could guess.

“What about a jeweled pin, for his cravat? An emerald, perhaps?”

“Too fine a gift, Ma’am. He would feel awkward in accepting.”

“A pair of fur lined gloves?”

“Possibly. Certainly very useful. But perhaps a bit _too_ practical.”

“A pocket watch?”

“He wears his father’s.”

“A fine gold chain for it?”

“Again—possible. Though he has several.”

Victoria huffed out a sigh. “A jewel encrusted box, in which he may keep my letters?”

Emma giggled, along with Victoria.

“No Ma’am, I think not!”

“You see, I am hopeless!” Victoria said with a sigh.

“A bottle of fine brandy would be much appreciated. You know it is his favorite drink.”

“But drunk, and thus gone. Or, he would never drink it, and thus it would be wasted and unappreciated entirely.”

“Perhaps—but, no.”

“What?”

“Well. I believe I know of something he should truly like, that cannot be consumed or rendered useless. But it is perhaps too—intimate—a gift, Ma’am.”

“What?” Victoria was on the edge of her seat now, intrigued. Hanging on Emma's every word.

But maddeningly, Emma seemed to be weighing her thoughts carefully. Finally she met the queen’s eyes.

“Whatever is it? Please, you must tell me Emma.”

“Perhaps…a miniature portrait of yourself, Ma’am, would be much appreciated.” Emma’s eyes locked with hers. “One that he could wear—secretly, of course--on his watch chain? Or put somewhere else entirely, where no one could see it but himself.”

“But he sees me every day as it is,” she said gloomily. “I rather doubt he wants a portrait of me to go along with him, when he finally does make his escape.”

“Why should you think he wishes to escape you, Ma’am?”

“He—just…because he--” she sighed.

“He what?”

She shrugged. “Because I sometimes feel that I am more of a troublesome duty to him than I am anything else. If I were not Queen, he would not bother with me. Would never even glance my direction. I sometimes think I must vex him greatly, though he is too well mannered to ever betray that sentiment to me.” She felt the tears prickle her eyes. “But oh…oh Emma! How important he is to me! How…imperative…he is to my happiness and well being! I cannot even imagine life without him in it. And yet he does fine enough without me. Would that he cared for me— _truly_ cared for me, I mean—even a little bit!” Victoria bit her lip and turned away. The truth of it all stung in her own ears. It was one thing to know something absolutely. Another entirely to speak the words outside of one’s own thoughts.

Emma was silent for a moment, and Victoria did not meet her friend’s eyes. She gazed instead out of the window, at the still-swirling snow.

“Ma’am,” her friend said at last. “I do not pretend to know the inner workings of William’s heart, no matter how good of a friend he is. But I can assure you, he holds you in genuinely high esteem. Far higher than you give yourself credit for.”

“I…fear I…upset him. Unsettle him.”

“In what way?”

Victoria took a deep breath, and then told Emma about the night of the coronation ball. How she had stupidly thrown herself at him in the hallway—how he had rejected her. How ever since, things between them had not been as they were before—how their meetings were either overly polite, or awkward. There was an edge to their discussions now that had not been present before, and how they seemed mired in an unending stream of distant politeness that frustrated her in the extreme.

“I fear I have ruined everything.” She wiped her cheeks. “I thought perhaps a nice Christmas present might help. But I suppose there is no way to undo what I did. No way to make him comfortable with me again.”

Emma was quiet for a long time. Presently she replied.

“No, Ma’am. There is no way to undo what you did. It cannot be forgotten. Nor can either of you pretend it did not occur. It is possible that the moment has stayed with him. Made him slightly uncomfortable, that is true. But if it is, it is not because he views you as a troublesome child. I can assure you he does not. But he does very much view you as a Queen. And you _are_ Queen, Ma’am. And that fact also cannot be forgotten. Not by anyone. Especially not by William. Or even yourself.”

“I do not wish it to be forgotten. But I do wish it would not get in the way.”

“Ma’am, William is very mindful of his position. He may be your Prime Minister, but he is not your equal. If he does in any way have feelings deeper than friendship, he knows they are futile. Perhaps even dangerous. For him to act upon them would be unforgivable.”

“By whom? Certainly not by me!”

“Perhaps not. But unfortunately such a matter would go far beyond yourself and him, Ma’am.”

“But he is so very fine a man, Emma,” she whispered, leaning her head on the cool glass of the window. “The finest I could ever wish for. I do not know of any prince who could ever even be his equal, let alone his superior.”

“He is a very fine man, that is true, Ma’am. I for one am pleased for him to be recognized as such. I believe he values your high esteem and the trust you place in him above all other things. Therefore any gift you give him this Christmas—I promise you—he will cherish it.”

Victoria squeezed her eyes closed, but the tears still escaped.

“He would? Truly?”

“Yes Ma’am. He would. Why ever _don’t_ you have your likeness taken for him? There is still time, after all. I can assure you, he would value such among his most prized possessions. Far more than you realize. And so long as no one knew of it, there could be no harm in it, surely? You could place it in a locket perhaps. If you gave your gift in secret, no one would ever come to know. For William certainly would tell no one, and neither would I. I believe it really would mean the world to him.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do, Ma’am. And…you could make it a special portrait. One just for him. Something quite unusual. Special.”

Victoria looked at her lady-in-waiting, at the slow, conspiratorial smile spreading across her features.

“Emma, whatever are you suggesting?”

“There is a painter, Ma’am, renowned for his paintings of women. I think you will find him quite to your liking. He does perhaps vary into more unconventional work, but he is adept at making a woman look like a goddess.”

“If he makes me look such, Lord M will never recognize me, and think I have given him the portrait of another woman entirely!” Victoria giggled.

“Oh no Ma’am. There will be no mistaking it is you. And his skill is great enough even to please William’s exacting tastes for portraits.”

“Yes he does have a very critical eye, does he not?”

“And he quite liked your coronation portrait, if you will remember Ma’am.”

She shrugged. “He said it did not do me justice.”

“He said, ‘no painting can ever quite do you justice,’ if I remember your recollection aright.”

She had forgotten that. It made her smile.

“You are certain it would please him?”

“I am.”

“Then would you make the arrangements for it? I’d rather not involve anyone else.”

“With pleasure.”

And so it was done. The artist in question was sent for, and was secreted into and out of the palace for a succession of days, where Victoria sat for him in the greatest possible secrecy, until the work was done. The finished product was something rather lovely, she had to admit, as she held the small portrait in her hand, secured inside it’s golden locket, dangling from the finest gold chain that could be found. She wrapped it in thin muslin and placed it in a small, elaborately-enameled box. And unbeknownst to even Emma, she had enclosed within the wrappings a lock of her very own hair, tied securely in a purple ribbon.

It was properly scandalous now, she thought as she regarded the finished package somberly. A lover’s gift. It could not but be regarded as such. But now that it was done, Victoria could not bring herself to give him anything less. Her heart was his, even if it was not within her gift to give it, or his own position to receive it. Still, she would have him know it. For better or for worse.

She would have him know how dearly she loved him, for once and for all.


	2. The Christmas Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Christmas Eve, and the night of the ball is upon them. Will Victoria have the courage she needs to give Lord M his gift? Whatever will his response be?

**Chapter 2—The Christmas Ball**

“You are in very high spirits tonight, Ma’am,” Lord M said, smiling as he swirled her around the dance floor. He looked so handsome in his red frock coat, crisp white cravat and black waistcoat, eyes flashing merrily in the candlelight as they danced their first of two waltzes.

“Indeed for it is Christmas, after all,” she said, returning his smile. “It is my favorite time of the year. And you are here and we are dancing. Why ever should I not be in high spirits?”

“You flatter me, Ma’am,” he said, chuckling. “Haven’t I warned you about that before?”

“Indeed you have. But I like to live dangerously.” She said, laughing.

“There are plenty of young men here waiting to snatch you away from me,” he continued. “Prince George for one.”

“Prince George is more interested in the punch bowl, Lord M. And I am quite content to leave him to it.”

He laughed in earnest at this, and Victoria smiled brightly to see it.

“You too are in high spirits, Lord M.”

“Indeed I am, Ma’am. Flattery, I fear, brings out my worst qualities.”

“Indeed it does not. I like you this way.”

He took a deep breath, and Victoria felt the large, warm spread of his hand against her back tighten suddenly, and his eyes blinked rapidly several times and took on a glassy appearance, but his smile never wavered.

“Then I shall endeavor to be foolish more often,” he said softly, “if it pleases you thus.”

“You are never foolish.”

“Oh but I am, Ma’am. I am the most foolish of fools in the world. Especially if it makes you smile.”

The music ended, and he brought her to a graceful halt, and held her there perhaps a moment too long before releasing her.

“But you have promised me the second dance as well, Lord M.”

“I have. But do you not wish for some refreshment first?” He snagged her a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

“I believe I was wrong before. It is you who likes to live dangerously,” she said accepting the glass. “I believe we both have reason to doubt that my taking this particular type of refreshment is entirely wise.”

“On the contrary. I think we have both successfully proven that together, we are more than sufficient to overcome any adverse effects of the drink upon you, Ma’am. And this time, it is Christmas after all. And not a coronation ball.”

“Does that make a difference?” She drank the rest of the glass and placed it on a nearby servant’s tray.

“Yes,” he said smiling as he noticed her mouthful. “There are not as many foreign dignitaries here tonight. So we are mostly ourselves, after all. I think it is safe for you to indulge in a little champagne, Ma’am.”

“You are a terrible influence on me, you know,” she said giggling as he took her into his arms again and led her into the dance. “Shame on you encouraging me thus, Lord M!”

“I do apologize Ma’am,” he said, still smiling at her. “I confess I do enjoy indulging you, when I have the chance of it.”

“Do you indeed? You should never have told me that. Now you know I will become incorrigible and even more troublesome to you than I was before.”

“The Queen is never troublesome, Ma’am,” he said smiling. “And serving you is my pleasure.”

“Perfectly spoken,” she said, feeling her heart squeeze a little, wondering again if he would have ever given her the time of day if she were an ordinary woman.

It was a pernicious thought. And once it claimed her, it would not release her.

The lighthearted banter evaporated between them. She dropped her eyes from his, unable to hold them any longer, and tried to lose herself again in the dance, in the pleasure of his arms. He smelled of soap and brandy, and something spicy she could not name. And she wanted to breathe him in. To drown in the scent of him. For this dance never to end. For him to never let her go again, but to hold her and dance with her forever and ever, to die in the circle of his arms, having lived every moment in the pleasure of being close to him.

It was at this moment of long-anticipated pleasure that her heart perversely chose to constrict with the greatest of pain, knowing what she wanted could never be. This dance must come to an end, and he would release her again. He would never be hers. And she, never his. She could see her long days stretched out before her suddenly, always and forever tormented by the desire to be close to this man, so deep inside her heart, and yet never allowed to be. Such fleeting moments as this would be all she would ever have of him. All she would ever know of the feeling of being enclosed in his arms, his hands upon her body, guiding her in a dance she never wanted to end.

And thus the dance she’d craved for so long at once fed her starving heart while at the same time, it tore at it. Taunting her with what she desperately desired above all else, but could never achieve. The irony was bitter in the extreme.

Would they ever dance thus for the rest of the evening? Or would his sense of propriety and modesty prevent it? Would this be all she would have until the next occasion she could devise to lure him into dancing with her again? Was she to go from dance to dance in an interminable series of longing and remembering? How could she live thus? There must be more, and yet there could not be.

“Your Majesty?” His voice came to her softly, sweetly worried, as if from far away. “Have I in any way given offense?”

She blinked furiously against the tears that threatened, willing the music to go on and on, willing herself to commit every moment of this to deepest memory. The flickering candlelight. The strains of the violins. The fresh scent of pine and fir from the trimmings around the room. The way his eyes shimmered green and gold. The heat of his broad, capable hand so firm upon her back, so gentle the other in her own grasp. The strength of his arm beneath his wine-colored coat.

“No,” she whispered. “You could never offend me, Lord M.”

He gave her a smile full of gentleness. “You are sure about that Ma’am? You seem most pensive all of a sudden.”

The dance ended, and as the last strains of music died, Victoria remained in the circle of his arms, as they gazed one at another for a moment more before finally separating.

“I think perhaps I need some air,” she whispered.

He seemed to divine precisely what she meant. As always he ever did.

“There is a balcony not far,” he said quietly. “It will be most—private, Ma’am.”

“Then that is where I wish to go.”

They melted out of the ballroom, and eventually came to the balcony he had recommended. Victoria went to the rail and gazed out at the twinkling lights of London in a twilight sky. Christmas Eve. She could feel his presence behind her. He did not touch her, but the warmth of him called to her, and she felt his presence just as strongly as if his arms did encircle her.

She drew a ragged breath.

He was everything she could ever want in a man. In a companion. In a husband. And she _did_ want him. So very badly. She wanted his hands upon her. His arms around her. She wanted to turn and lay her cheek against his chest, to have him draw her in close…so close…

“Your Majesty?” His voice was a whisper. “What is troubling you? Is there anything I can—do?”

She dropped her head. _Yes,_ she wanted to say. _There is plenty you could do. Hold me. Put your arms around me. Let me lean up against you, whisper your name. Let there be no barriers between us so that I may love you…._

“You dance so beautifully,” she said instead. “I did not wish our two dances to end.”

She heard him sigh behind her.

“Nor did I,” he whispered, so low she could barely hear him.

“I once told you I wish I could dance with you every night.”

“You did.”

“My wishes are unchanged.”

“You are most generous, Ma’am. Too generous, as always. But I thank you nonetheless.”

“It is not generosity, Lord M. It is the truth.”

He took a breath as if to speak, but she cut him off.

“If you are about to tell me I am very young again, please do not. I cannot bear it.”

“I wasn’t going to say so, Ma’am. I was only going to thank you.”

She sighed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to scold you.”

“There is no forgiveness necessary, Ma’am.”

She turned back to face him. He stood a few paces away, his hands folded before him. His head half bowed.

And he was so achingly beautiful as he stood, gilded in the moonlight, that the sight of him robbed her of her breath.

He gave her his sweet half-smile.

“Nevertheless. I ask your forgiveness anyway.”

“Granted, Ma’am, if it comforts you to have me say so. Is there…anything else troubling you tonight? You were so happy before and now you seem…well…discomfited by something.”

She took a deep breath. In the pocket of her gown was his gift. She reached her hand inside, fingering the small box, suddenly very unsure about bestowing it.

“It is only that…I wish to keep dancing with you. But I know you will tell me no. That you do not wish to dance, or, you feel it would be unwise.”

He nodded, his smile spreading. “It _would_ be unwise, Ma’am, to dance the whole of the evening together. Even if you were so inclined. But I do not see the harm in perhaps one more turn, so long as you favor others in between and we do not dance too often.”

“Only if you wish to, of course.”

“It is always a pleasure to stand up with you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lord M.”

He smiled at her. “Shall we return to the company, Ma’am? Perhaps some refreshment will restore your former good cheer.”

“No. Not yet.”

She could not lose the nerve now. It was now or never. Her hand closed around the box.

“Lord M—there is something I wish to…that is…it is not Christmas yet,” she said, “Not entirely. But I have a gift for you that I would wish you to have.”

He blinked. Twice. Surprise clearly written on his features.

“Your Majesty—”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” With decision, she pulled the small box from her skirts and held it out to him before she could lose her nerve. “Please don’t say I should not have. I wanted to.”

A strange mixture of emotion chased across his face. Surprise still, followed by delight, and then something softer as his eyes misted, and his mouth gave way to a small smile.

“Please accept it.” She whispered. “Happy Christmas, Lord M.”

He reached out with great delicacy, taking the small enameled box gently from her. He ran his hand over it a few times, and Victoria was pleased to see he was indeed very moved. He opened it and she held her breath…closed her eyes for a moment against the frantic beating of her heart.

What would he think? What would he say? Was it too much? Maybe she should not have. Maybe he would back away from her in earnest now…

His breath caught, and Victoria felt as though time itself stopped. It was as if he had forgotten her presence entirely, so intent was his face as he beheld the contents.

If she had ever thought he did not care for her, that thought was shattered forever. 

He held the lock of her hair in disbelief, stroked it with his fingers and she watched him swallow hard. Then he replaced it gently into the box and drew out the gold locket. When he opened it, the tears finally rolled down his cheeks.

Victoria felt at once elated at this proof of his affection, and awkward at the intimacy of the gift. He knew—oh yes, he knew now. The significance of it had not been lost on him.

The portrait was indeed masterful, and as Emma had indicated, it was of very unusual design. She had sat for the painter with her hair down, draped over one shoulder as she lay back as if reclined. So intimate a pose indeed, that she would not have gifted the portrait to any other soul, save him. But for him…yes. For him to see her thus felt right and perfect.

His lip trembled as he ran a finger over the small painting, indicative she knew, of strong emotion.

“What,” he whispered at last, “have I ever done to deserve such a gift from you as this?”

“Do you…that is…if you do not like it…”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You mistake my meaning, Ma’am. It is a magnificent gift. So much more so than I deserve.”

“I disagree,” she said, twisting her hands nervously. “For I believe you deserve far more.”

“You are too generous Ma’am,” he said softly.

“Is it…a good likeness?”

“He has captured you perfectly. It is most beautiful, Ma’am. As are you.”

Victoria went very still inside. She was beautiful to him?

He closed the locket softly and replaced it delicately back into its box, and raised his eyes to hers. Victoria found she could say nothing. All pretense fell away from her, and she stood there, letting him look deep into her eyes, to read the naked truth written there.

No. No more hiding. Not from him. Not ever from him again.

“I shall treasure it always.”

“Then…then…it meets with your approval?” She swallowed hard, feeling awkward and at a loss for words.

“It is the most beautiful gift I have ever received,” he whispered as he let her gaze back at him, straight into his own heart. “I always wished to see you this way. With your hair down around your shoulders… ”

Slowly, painfully slowly, his hand rose to her cheek, and with utter gentleness he wiped away her tears. Her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted on a sigh. The heaven of his touch!

“Whatever shall I give you for Christmas, now?” He mused. “What could I possibly give you, Ma’am, that would equal your gift to me?”

His other hand rose to her neck and he cupped her face gently between them, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

They gazed at each other a breathless moment, and Victoria felt perched upon some great precipice. That any moment she would fall. Or perhaps they both would.

She watched in wonder as his gaze dropped to her mouth, the long, twin fans of his lashes catching the moonlight as he drew closer and closer until his lips touched hers.

Her eyes closed, and she felt all the stars in heaven rain down around her.


	3. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord M has a gift for Victoria, too...

**Chapter 3—The Kiss**

Sweetly, expertly, he kissed her. Slowly at first, with the lightest brushes of his lips on hers, the touch of a butterfly’s wings.

“Beautiful…sweet…incorrigible…darling…girl…” he whispered between, “Whatever shall I do with you…Ma’am?”

 _Love me!_ She wanted to cry. _Oh say you love me and you always shall!_

“This!” she heard herself squeak. “Oh more of this, Lord M!”

He chuckled softly against her cheek. “Careful,” he said, “you will make me think you like my highly inappropriate kisses, Ma’am.”

“I do! I do like them! I adore them!”

“And I…” he kissed her, “adore… _you_.” His forehead landed against hers, his hands warm on her face. “Never doubt it,” he whispered, stroking her face with his thumbs.

“Then kiss me without end,” she heard herself say. “Until I drown in your kisses. For I could never have enough.”

“Still you flatter me? Have you not yet learned how dangerous your reckless flattery can become?” He flashed a smile at her.

“Not dangerous enough apparently,” she quipped, “or you would now be kissing me.”

He gazed at her, amusement fusing with something more intense in the depths of his eyes. Then he kissed her again, and promptly took her breath away.

Victoria shivered, a sigh escaping her as her own mouth melted against his. How had she lived so long without this? She leaned into him farther, pouring her heart into her kiss, willing him to taste what she felt but could not express. How bone deep her need of him! How essential he was to her happiness! How passionately she desired this closeness…this intimacy…with him, and him alone. How she wanted more of him…all of him…

She opened her heart to him in her kiss. Gave it to him. A gift far more dear than the box he had opened.

It was his turn to sigh, to shudder against her.

“Victoria...bloody hell, Victoria!” He broke away, seeking her eyes, shock in his own.

She stood gasping for breath, locked in his gaze, waiting in an agony of apprehension.

Had she kissed him well? Had he enjoyed it? Had he understood her?

His eyes welled up, his hands caressing her face, her cheeks, brushing lightly over her hair. He was breathing hard, searching her eyes, all playfulness gone. Then his arms closed around her tight and warm, drawing her into himself in an embrace.

Victoria sighed deep and long. Her cheek pressed against his heart—precisely where she so longed to be. His own landed against the top of her head, and her arms wrapped securely around his back.

_Completion._

She felt her body relax against him, melting into his warmth, surrendering to the perfection of the moment. His body was lean and strong and firm, and felt so very good against her. His strength surrounded her, warm and true. His heart beat quickly but steadily in his chest beneath her, and she never wanted him to let go. Not ever. She choked back a sob. Peace. Safety.

 _Home_.

“William.” She breathed his name, tasting it on her lips, permitting herself the familiarity of it, squeezing him closer, as close as she could manage. “How I love you so.”

She felt him draw in a ragged breath at her words, and a hot, damp warmth landed in her hair.

“And I you,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling her still closer. “I always shall.”

“Truly?” she choked, feeling tears threaten as she clung to him.

She felt him chuckle.

“Truly,” he confirmed, planting his lips against her hair.

“I did not think so.”

He squeezed her still tighter. “It is not fitting for you to know it even now.”

“You are always so aloof.”

“I do not wish to be.”

“You have been fighting this?”

“Yes—Ma’am. I have. But your determination over me has won at last. I cannot fight against you any more.”

It was her turn to smile, to chuckle.

“Thankfully so. This is so much better, is it not?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Oh yes.”

“Never release me,” she breathed against his chest.

He chuckled again. “And how would we explain ourselves, Ma’am, when we emerge from here, still entwined?”

“I do not care.”

He laughed out loud. “God, how endlessly you charm me.”

“Do I indeed?” She smiled.

His hands moved heavily on her body.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “You do.”

Too soon he tore himself away, smiling into her eyes.

“No,” she whined, “Do not release me. The night is so cold without you.”

He laid his head against hers, his hands on her face again.

“I must,” he whispered, kissing her again—the softest brush of his mouth against hers. “We cannot linger here any longer. Already you must be missed.”

“ _We_ must be. We were missed together.”

“You must return to the ball.” He released her and stepped away.

“We. _We_ must return to the ball,” she said firmly, wrapping her arms about herself and shivering with cold. But inside of her, her heart was whole and warm and glowing. She smiled at him.

He gazed into her eyes softly, and huffed a laugh. “I doubt that Ma’am. I am confident the only person who would notice my absence or care for it tonight is already before me.”

“But I will miss you terribly if you do not return.”

“Ma’am…” he said softly, stepping closer to her, his hands upon her cheeks again, stroking her face lightly with his thumbs, “I do not think it wise that I should return. After all that has transpired between us this evening, I think it would be more prudent if you were to return to your guests without me.”

“Why?”

“Because, Ma’am! Is it not a little obvious to the rest of the assembly that we are currently in the company of each other? And if we were to arrive back again together, even if we stagger our appearance, do you not see that questions will be asked of us both?”

“I do not care what they think!”

“But you should. They are your subjects, Ma’am. Your family. Like it or not, what they think does have an impact upon your life. Upon your reign.”

She sighed heavily.

“I care more for you than all the rest combined.”

He swallowed hard and smiled at her, despite himself. “And I you. But that alone is not enough. Besides, what do you think both of us will be thinking about for the rest of this evening, hmm? I know in my own case at least…” he stroked her cheek gently with his fingers, tracing the line of her brow, her jaw, her lips. “My thoughts shall now tend in only one direction.”

“And mine.”

“And so it will be plain to all. Not only where we have been, but what has transpired. They will all come against us. There will be scandal, Ma’am. We can either of us ill-afford it. And therefore we must act with discretion.”

“Please. Do not send me back alone, Lord M,” she choked a little at the prospect of facing the rest of the evening without him, “for it will be insufferable without you!”

“How can a Christmas ball ever be insufferable, Ma’am?” he said, teasingly.

“Easily. If you are not there to dance with me.”

“We have shared a good deal more than dancing tonight, Ma’am,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Surely this shall be enough to sustain you through the evening?”

“I can never have enough of you.”

His eyes turned serious, burning as if lit from within himself like a furnace. Then his lips landed hot on hers without warning, deeper and with more intensity than his other kisses. It sucked the breath from her body. His hands were upon her face, her neck and shoulders, as if he could not touch her enough. His mouth opened against hers—his tongue sliding between her lips.

She moaned against him, swept away as if on a tide, existing only in his touch. In his hands. In the feeling of his slick, velvet tongue in her mouth, caressing her own…

“You must return,” he said hoarsely when he released her, his head again against her own. “Return and dance with someone else. Return and dance with all the bloody men in the room tonight. Dance, and smile, and flirt with them all, as if I never existed. You must!”

“Why must I? How can you kiss me this way and make such a request of me?”

“Because--God above!” He kissed her again. “Victoria--God, Victoria!”

His kiss was searing, a frisson of electricity through her body, melting her bones. Someone cried out, and he redoubled his kiss—deeper and fuller, melding them together.

“Go,” he breathed, tearing his mouth from hers, his chest pumping like a bellows. “Go now. Before I can no longer release you.”

“Say you will come and dance again with me,” she returned.

“I cannot! Not now. Not like this.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I will not be able to withstand seeing another man put his hands upon you. I shall challenge the first blackguard to a duel who but offers to dance with you. I cannot bear it.” His eyes were huge. He shook his head. “I am sorry. I have no right to feel this way…”

“You have every right.”

“No I do not. I cannot claim you for my own. I have no right to touch you this way…to kiss you…to even speak your name.”

“You have every right, because I have granted them to you!”

He sighed. “Oh my darling. My darling girl. How dear you are to me! How deeply you move me with the sweetness of your love. Would that our feelings were all that mattered. Would that I could sweep you up right now off your feet and carry you away from here, to a place where it could be just the two of us, and the devil take the whole world!”

“Would that you could!” She cried. “Oh William! Can you not see how I cannot bear to dance with another man any more than you can bear to watch? I do not wish to dance with any other! To smile and pretend as though I enjoy their company, when I am longing for yours? Since the coronation ball, I have dreamed of being in your arms alone. No one else’s. I cannot stop dreaming of your arms around me—you holding me in the dance, in your eyes. When you do, the world is perfect and beautiful, and when you release me, all beauty is lost! And now that I have gone to rather a lot of trouble to bring about again a reason for us to dance together, you wish to leave early!”

“Oh Victoria—my sweet, darling Victoria! Are you truly telling me that you organized this ball for Christmas, just so…we could dance?”

“Yes,” she said, dropping her eyes, feeling he must think her foolish, but unable to hide the truth from him. “For I did not feel it would ever happen again if there was not occasion enough to warrant it. And now it has happened, and been so lovely. But you wish to leave me early. And now I must wait again for another occasion, and then wait again for you to ask. It would seem I should expect only to dance once or twice with you each time before you leave me early, and then have to suffer through the rest of the evening without you.” She backed away from him, wringing her hands in her distress. “And now that we have shared so much more, I do not know how I can bear it!”

“I had--no notion--you found my dancing so pleasing, Ma’am.” He said, chuckling a little.

“When we dance—when you hold me—I feel as if I could fly. And your hand upon my back is so warm and sure. As if I am home. It is the only place I have that feeling—with you. And as soon as you release me, I long to feel your touch upon me again. Your arms around me.” She bit her lip and looked at him. “It is more than dancing. So much more.”

“Yes,” he said, locked in her eyes. “It is.”

“Please say you will stay. For my sake.”

He drew a deep breath and nodded.

“I can deny you nothing. God help us both.”

Victoria gasped as he met her eyes again. For she had never seen his eyes so naked, so vulnerable. She felt as if she could see straight through to his soul. She approached him, drawn towards him, and placed her hands upon his chest. His arms came around her lightly.

He huffed a laugh suddenly, smiling into her eyes.

“I daresay you could have me waltzing you down Pall Mall if you but asked me. I am remarkably weak where you are concerned, Ma’am.”

She gazed at him in surprise, and giggled softly. “You would never!”

“Pray, do not ask it of me, lest I prove you wrong.”

“I should not. I assure you,” she said, feeling herself smiling widely.

He laughed softly in return. “I am relieved to know it--Ma’am.”

“You are the dearest man I have ever known,” she said, brushing his face softly with her fingers.

He took her hand in his and pressed her fingers to his lips, his eyes closed. “And you are the dearest, the most remarkable, woman I have ever known.”

“Woman? Not a girl then?”

“No. Not a girl.” His eyes burned into hers.

“You will return then? And dance with me?”

“I will.”

“And you will stay tonight?” She whispered. “Here, at the palace?”

Victoria held her breath. She had invited him to the palace before, and indeed he had stayed. But somehow, they both knew this invitation was different. She had not meant to infuse it with such meaning, but the champagne bubbling around in her system seemed to lessen the sting of all such confessions tonight. Her boldness was unparalleled, positively brazen. And yet, spoken straight from her heart to his as it was, she could not take it back again. She had no wish to.

He had fully comprehended her meaning. Victoria stood waiting, suspended, hanging in midair for his verdict. The deepest joy and the blackest despair hung in the balance—one word from him would decide her fate one way or the other.

“Yes,” he said, very quietly.

Her heart raced, and she breathed in deep. Excitement infused her. And something of fear. But one look in his eyes, and all fear was dispelled.

“Then we shall contrive to spend this Christmas together—entirely together. For it is a wish we very much share, my darling Lord Melbourne.”

His eyes wore an inscrutable expression, but one that set her blood racing. This was it. They both knew the moment for what it was.

“You know we shall,” he said, so faint she could barely hear the words.

“How is it to be?” she asked stepping into him.

“I will come to you.”

Something momentous had shifted between them, fallen into place. At long last. It felt so inescapable. As inevitable and natural as the tide, as perfect as the moon. He cradled her face between his big palms and leaned in to her, kissing her softly.

“Now,” he said, breaking from her. “It is long past time for Cinderella to return to the ball. Return, Ma’am. And then later…”

“Yes. Later.”

He kissed her once more, on the tip of her nose. Then smiling, they separated. And Victoria did return to the ball. Her heart light as a feather.

To love--and be loved in return—that was the greatest Christmas present of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand fade to black!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> This story has been a difficult write, due to RL craziness. That is partly why it is a gift for Daphne_Fredriksen. When I was at a place where I couldn't even bear to read this and was a hair's breath away from scrapping it entirely, she talked me off the ceiling and helped me to save it. So if you like this one, thank her! It would not be here if she had not intervened. 
> 
> Merry Happy Christmas to everyone! And to all, a good night!


End file.
